Laurence looked round with something approaching a start at Renshaw, the butler, whose respectful, colourless voice broke in thus upon his meditations. The dining-room struck him as hotter and more oppressive than ever—by contrast probably with the buffeting wind and driving mist in which he had paced the lime-tree walk for a good hour before the dressing-bell rang. To-night the glass bowl, supported by the wanton, dancing, Etruscan figures, was filled with tuberoses and carmine-stained Japanese lilies; and the odour given off by these acted on the young man's brain as opium or hashish might have acted—at least so it appeared to him. The longer he meditated, the less could he distinguish between real and unreal, fact and phantasy. The best accredited articles of his moral and scientific creed had passed into the region of the open question. Speculation ran riot, all the accustomed landmarks of his thought being for the time submerged; while the wildest and most extravagant ideas presented themselves as within the range of practical action. That last read letter of Agnes Rivers, and his own resemblance to her lover, had inflamed his imagination and his heart. Even in their one night's intercourse, he had seen intelligence, purpose, gaiety, return to her. Now the daring conception that such a process might be continued, until his sweet and mysterious companion recovered all the senses and attributes of living womanhood, formed itself in his mind. Was it not conceivable that this appearance might be materialised, so that the fair and gracious spirit should once again inhabit a human body, and know all those dear joys of love and motherhood which had been—by some evil fortune, some catastrophe, as he supposed—denied to her? An immense ambition to be the instrument of this restoration, this recovery, grew within him. He would work a miracle, he would be as God, clothing the soul with flesh, raising the dead. And this by no exercise of charlatanism, by no dabbling in old-world superstitions, or dealings in folly of White Magic or of Black; but simply by force of will, by the action of mind on mind, by the incalculable power of a great love. It was impious, perhaps. Morally it was doubtful—circumstanced as he, Laurence, was. But it was the most magnificent experiment ever offered either to man of science, or to poet. Here was the opportunity he had desired, had waited for. Here was his chance in life!
Then the butler's voice cut in, bringing him down to the everyday level. No wonder he looked round a little dazed.
"Mr. Rivers regrets that he will be unable to receive you to-night, sir," it said.
And Laurence asked in answer—
"Is my uncle ill? Is he worse?"
"Mr. Lowndes has brought down word that he is tired, sir. Mr. Armstrong, the agent, arrived from Scotland this afternoon while you were out. Mr. Rivers has had a long interview with him—too long an interview in Mr. Lowndes's opinion."
"I am sorry," Laurence said absently. He fell to caressing his wonderful idea again, but the butler waited.
"Mr. Armstrong requested me to add, sir, that if convenient to you, as you will not be engaged with Mr. Rivers, he would be obliged if you would allow him to speak to you in the course of the evening."
"Oh, by all means," the young man said, rising. Then he added—"Tell Mr. Armstrong I will see him at once. Later I may be occupied. Where? In the small library—yes."
Laurence betook himself to the library, prepared to be bored with a good grace. But he might have spared himself such preparation, for looking on the new-comer, he liked him. The man, in age about sixty, was of barely middle height, broad-shouldered and lean about the flanks. He carried his head forward, stooping slightly, in observant, meditative fashion. He was slow of movement, calm, one capable of having his joke and keeping it to himself. His face was shaped like a kite, remarkable in the breadth of the lower part of the forehead and the high cheek-bones, narrowing down to a long, flat chin. The upper lip was long too, a somewhat pragmatical and self-righteous upper lip. While the eyes, set far apart under the wide brow, showed a clear, kindly blue between the narrow lids that ended in a fan-like system of wrinkles at the outward corners. The nose was thin and straight at the bridge, with wide-winged, open nostrils. The hair, formerly sandy, was now grey, smooth on the low dome of the head, and thickly waved above and behind the flat-set, long-lobed ears. In all a shrewd, humorous, sober countenance, ruddy, moreover, as a well-ripened, autumn apple.